Portrait of Hell
by quailfish
Summary: After Rikuo listens in on his new next-door neighbour talking to a stranger, he finds himself wondering, who is his neighbour, and why exactly is he there? But he doesn't know just how soon he'll find out.. AU, one-shot, pairing is Kyosai/human!Rikuo.


**Portrait of Hell**

**A/N: **This is my first actual contribution to the Nurariyhon no Mago fandom, so please enjoy! I've always wanted to write a fanfiction for NnM with a slightly more obscure character..meaning Kyosai. If you've read the short story "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates, you'll find that this one-shot is heavily influenced by it (I was inspired), but it's not exactly the same. Also please not that this is an **AU **fic (alternate universe), where youkai don't technically exist..therefore Rikuo is a human, and I've moved grandpa Nurarihyon out of the picture.

Reviews are very much appreciated. You'd make my day even with just a sentence. :)

**Pairing: **Kyosai/human!Rikuo

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Nurarihyon no Mago!

Rikuo had a next-door neighbor that recently moved in. He had never bothered to learn his neighbour's name, since he had never spoken to him before, but he knew that he was a painter. He was eccentric and mysterious and never spoke, but he was a painter. He would often see his neighbour walk out of his apartment with his tiny paintbrushes in hand, almost as if in a trance, with black paint smudged all over his face, hands, and clothes. Rikuo thought it made him look a bit like a football player. He had the black smears on his cheeks and big hands, tan and strong as though they had been fired in flames, like living pottery. His dark hair was always done up in a peculiar little clipped-up ponytail, and his eyes were forever lost in some faraway place.

One Friday night, Rikuo was walking back up the stairs and saw his neighbor standing in the hallway, talking to another man. The other man's eyes sent shivers running up his spine. They looked like they were painted on in black.

The same black that was streaked all over his neighbour's hands.

Now, Rikuo was a respectful boy. He was considerate and courteous and perfectly good, although he had an odd habit of wearing his glasses- even though he had perfect vision. He was a good student and always offered to do everyone's errands. The teacher had once asked him to be the class representative, but he had shyly turned it down in favor of more time to take care of his mother. Ever since his father's early death, she had progressively weakened. Rikuo had become the sole standing pillar of the remains of his family.

"Simply a darling, Wakana," his mother's friend Kejoro liked to crow as he chopped vegetables for dinner. "A complete _angel_." But on that Saturday, for some reason, his feet had rooted themselves to the ground, and Rikuo stood there and eavesdropped.

"I don't understand why you're still living here, Kyosai," the stranger was saying. "There's nothing here for you. Why don't you come back down with me?"

"I'm still looking. I have a good feeling about this place- I'm thinking I'll find it here." Kyosai's voice poured forth liquidly and seamlessly with an odd intensity.

"It's been two and a half weeks."

"I need more time, Enchou. Once I've found my inspiration, I'll leave."

Enchou cocked his head. "I think we have a spy listening in." Without warning, he spun around and stared straight through the wall with his painted eyes and a widening smile on his face, and he said, "Well, aren't you a little _sneak_."

A strangled, nervous sort of gasp escaped Rikuo's mouth, and he darted out behind the staircase wall and into his apartment, slamming the door shut. But he remembered catching a brief glimpse of his neighbour's- Kyosai's- eyes, staring at him, two slivers of silvery-grey starlight, and he remembered thinking in that moment, they were beautiful.

And as he kicked off his shoes and sunk into a chair, Rikuo felt his heartbeat quiver with a mixture of fear and curiosity and excitement.

For the rest of the weekend, Rikuo didn't dare to leave the apartment. His mother asked him if anything had happened. She poured him a cup of tea, worry etched into her face, and as he drank it, he smiled and told her that nothing was wrong. She was so kind and frail that it made him feel a bit regretful, even though he wasn't really lying. So he called over some of his school friends for dinner, Tsurara and Shoei, and cooked up a storm.

His mother seemed to relax. He was cooking as always, hanging out with his friends as always, doing everything as always. He laughed when an ice cube stuck to Tsurara's tongue and when Shoei bumped his head on one of the low doorways and tripped. He even laughed when Tsurara spilled her soup. "You're in an oddly good mood tonight," Shoei observed. "Are you sure you're Rikuo? Did the real you get kidnapped?"

He laughed. "No, I got kidnapped."

They ate contentedly for an hour and a half, and after they all finished dinner, he waved his friends good-bye and washed up the dishes. Rikuo didn't understand why he still felt like a thief who had just walked out of a store with something hidden in his pocket.

Afterwards, Rikuo threw himself into doing tasks. He took on everyone's cleaning shifts after school, and he volunteered himself to clubs in need of help. He walked his friend Tamazuki's dog and helped reorganize Auntie Kejoro's house. Rikuo particularly liked the feeling of accomplishing a good deed, doing something nice for someone else. It made him feel warm inside, and although he'd never admit it out loud, it made him feel good about himself. He could tell himself in the morning as he looked in the mirror, adjusting his glasses, I'm a good person. I help others. I care for them.

He was starting to forget a little about Kyosai, his strange neighbor. He never saw him anymore like Rikuo used to- there was no sign that he even lived there anymore. Still, whenever he walked past his door, he remembered that one Friday night and wondered what Kyosai had meant. What inspiration was he looking for? And Enchou, the stranger with the painted eyes?

Out of curiosity, he rang Kyosai's doorbell. No response. Then he knocked the door. There was nothing.

When he was eating dinner that night, he asked his mother, "Where did the neighbor go? You know, the painter, Mr. Kyosai? I knocked on his door today, and he wasn't there."

His mother looked surprised. "You didn't know?"

"Didn't know what?"

"He moved out a couple days ago. I remember seeing him leaving. He even waved to me and thanked me. He's an odd man, isn't he?"

Rikuo chewed his noodles thoughtfully. "Why would he thank you? I don't think he ever spoke to you, did he?" he said.

His mother laughed. "Not much. But he once saw me and offered to take me to my doctor's appointment. I said that I could go myself, so he offered to do it next time and asked me when, and I told him I'd have one in a week on Thursday. But now he's gone, so he won't be able to, since the appointment's tomorrow."

"That was really nice of him though."

"He_ is_ nice; he reminds me of you." She smiled and ruffled his hair. "I don't know what I'd do without you. You're my guardian angel, Rikuo," she sighed, and then she finished her bowl and excused herself to go lie down on her bed.

The next day, Rikuo came home from school. While he sat at the kitchen table, doing his homework, he thought about yesterday night. A wave of powerful emotion washed over him, and he found himself sitting alone at the table, wiping his tears.

Suddenly, he heard a knock at the door. And another knock. And another. He hurriedly splashed his face with cold water and ran to the door, opening it. In the doorway, he saw a familiar face: it was Kyosai standing there, in a fresh set of clothes free from any black paint, with his quiet silver eyes. Rikuo felt his breath hitch in a half-hiccup, half-sob.

"You've been crying," Kyosai said in a surprisingly gentle voice. It was only the second time Rikuo had heard him speak, but he thought his voice was pleasantly smooth. Like he could listen to it forever.

"Um." He felt the blood rush to his face. "Yeah. What are you doing here? I thought you..moved."

"I thought you heard a couple weeks ago. Once I found my creative inspiration, I'd leave. So I found it, and I left." Then he paused, and that same strange, languid passion from the first time Rikuo had heard him speak came again, "But finding it doesn't mean I've obtained it, Rikuo."

"I don't think I..understand, Mr. Kyosai."

"Not Mr. Kyosai," he said softly, "just Kyosai. Say that instead."

"Kyosai." Rikuo took a shuddering breath and fought to steady his hiccups, a result from the crying. He was starting to feel a slight hint of uneasiness as he stared down Kyosai's silver eyes. "I think..I think that maybe you should go. And get what you've been looking for."

The painter smiled sleepily at him. "You're so amusing. What I've been looking for all this time is _you_, and now that I've found you, you're going to come with me. Won't you?"

"B-but my mom-"

"Your mother's gone. She's at her doctor's appointment with Dr. Zen. I know for a fact that she won't be coming back for a while." He reached out with one of his large hands and brushed Rikuo's cheek with his thumb- an oddly affectionate gesture that made his heart flap like a bird. Kyosai's hand was hot, almost feverishly so. "So come with me. I can grant all of your wishes; it'd be so easy. I would take care of you. And I'd let you see your dad." His eyes were upturned in half-moons, shining lunatic moons, deranged and hypnotic and mesmerizing.

"My dad," Rikuo repeated slowly, as if in a daze. He shook his head and tried to take a step back. "He's..dead."

"Your father's in hell. Didn't you know? Cheaters go to hell. And what about your poor, unmarried mother?" Kyosai murmured.

Instantly, the spell broke, and Rikuo tore away from him with a wild gasp. He was crying again, but he couldn't help it- he was frightened; Kyosai had hit a delicate nerve. How did he know? He scrambled for the kitchen. Where was the phone? Where was the damned phone when he needed it? The kitchen felt foreign to him through the blur of tears. But just as soon as he had escaped, a sturdy hand caught his arm and pulled him back. "You're so interesting, Rikuo," he heard a smooth, slow voice say beside his ear. "I'd hate for you to find out what I can do when I'm angry. All you have to do is come with me, and no one gets hurt. Your mother won't get involved in any of this. In fact, I can pull some strings before she dies- which is soon, anyways- so that she doesn't get punished in hell. Would you like that? I think you would."

Rikuo's mouth felt like sawdust. He had to call the police. He reached out for the phone, but Kyosai crushed it instantaneously in his huge hands, as if it had been nothing more than paper.

"_Come with me, Rikuo_." It was an order, half-sung and crazy and absolutely glorious. He felt a dull, faraway throb of pain when Kyosai bent down and cut his cheek with one of his nails. Ah, Rikuo thought, when did his nails get so sharp? And Kyosai pulled out an inkpot, dipped his thumb into it, and ran the black paint over the bleeding wound, and suddenly, Rikuo's body felt very heavy and sleepy. His feet were padding slowly into the cool hallway, his fingers intertwined with Kyosai's burning ones…

He was being lead to a huge painting propped up against the wall, a painting the size of a door and done in inky black. Through his half-lidded eyes, he could see the shapes of hundreds of monsters, beautiful and horrifying- he saw Enchou too, with his perfect painted eyes. As he walked towards it, he could hear Kyosai whispering in his ear, a soothing, magnetic chant.

"You don't have to worry about your mother anymore. You don't have to worry about helping other people to be a good person, because I think you're wonderful- and you don't need these glasses anymore to look humble because you're too good for all of them. There's no need for you to bring yourself down to their level. You are my muse." Rikuo's glasses fell to the ground and shattered, but he ignored it.

"You are beautiful, and I will make you the king of my hell." And with that, he took Rikuo through the hot swirls of ink and into the midst of the demons, and Kyosai pulled him into a kiss.


End file.
